But Hugh had also been brought up by Ralf Corbaille, who had taught him that the first duty of a knight was to protect the powerless.
The citizens of Worcester had been powerless yesterday. The garrison had defended the castle, but there had been no one to protect the people in the streets or the nuns in the convent.
They were burying the dead as Hugh and his escort rode out of the ruined city and headed northwest toward Evesham.
It is time for me to see her.
This was the thought that ran through Hugh’s mind during the whole of the cold, damp ride to Evesham.
If something had happened to her at Worcester, I might have lost my chance ever to see her again.
As they rode along, Thomas and the other two knights talked together about what they had seen in Worcester.
Hugh rode in silence.
Seven miles before Evesham, a sharp shaft of pain stabbed through the left side of his head.
Please, he thought despairingly. Not now.
But the pain continued. As before, it seemed to emanate from a single throbbing muscle in his neck, shooting up behind his eye and into his forehead.
He made the knights stop so that he could drink the barley water Cristen had given him and take her betony potion.
The day had continued dark and overcast, but still it seemed too bright to Hugh. He closed his left eye.
“What is it, Hugh?” he heard Thomas ask him anxiously.
There was no way he could disguise his distress. He was going to have to lie down the moment they reached Evesham.
Pray God that he didn’t throw up.
“I have a headache,” he said, his voice short and staccato-sounding.
He felt Thomas looking at him.
“Can you go on?” the young knight asked. “Do you want to stop for a while?”
Hugh thought briefly of stopping until the headache had passed. But it could last for eight hours and the air smelled of rain. Concealing his disability from those at Evesham did not seem worth hours of making the knights and the horses camp out in the cold and the rain.
He wished, for the hundredth time since he had left Somerford, that Cristen had let him travel alone.
“No,” he said. “I will be all right.”
“Can you see? Do you want me to take your reins?” Thomas asked next.
Hugh, who knew he could trust Rufus, said once again that he would be all right.
The headache raged for the remainder of the ride, but even though Hugh’s stomach was queasy, he did not feel as if he were going to throw up.
Cristen’s medications must be having some effect.
It began to rain and the knights pulled their hoods over their heads and rode on.
At last the walls of Evesham came into view. Hugh removed his helmet and was once more recognized by the men at the gate and allowed to enter.
In the outer bailey he met Philip Demain, who was leading a large black stallion in the direction of the stable. The horse’s coat was wet from the rain.
Philip stopped dead when he saw Hugh.
The pain was like the edge of a sword repeatedly stabbing through the left side of Hugh’s head.
“What are you doing here?” Philip demanded.
Hugh half closed his left eye. Standing there, Philip looked tall and blond and splendid, rather like the archangel Michael guarding the gates of paradise from sinners, Hugh thought a little hysterically. He managed to say, “I have come to see my mother.”
The two men regarded each other through the falling rain.
Philip frowned. “You look peculiar.”
“He’s ill,” Thomas said.
Hugh felt his stomach heave.
No, he thought. He closed his eyes and forced the nausea down.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“You had better come with me,” he heard Philip saying in a clipped tone.
Stableboys appeared out of nowhere to take their horses, and Philip turned to lead the way to the castle.
Hugh dismounted and once more his stomach heaved.
Thomas said worriedly, “Do you want to take my arm, Hugh?”
“No,” Hugh said.
Putting one foot after the other, he crossed the bailey, fighting nausea the whole way.
He lost his battle in the inner courtyard. Abruptly he turned away from the others, bent over, and began to retch.
“I’m sorry,” he said when it was over. He was trembling with pain and exhaustion and humiliation.
He felt an arm come around his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it,” Thomas’s voice said in his ear. “Let’s just get you to bed.”
They went up the castle ramp and into the Great Hall.
Philip sent a page to fetch Lady Alyce.
Hugh held himself very straight. The taste of bile was in his mouth and he was horribly afraid that the nausea was coming back.
He could feel Philip looking at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the fireplace.
At last Lady Alyce came sedately down the stairs. Hugh watched her cross the floor in his direction.
“Back again?” she asked him sweetly.
Philip spoke before Hugh could reply. “He’s ill, my lady. Perhaps you could show him to a bedroom.”
“Ill?” Alyce looked at her husband’s nephew suspiciously.
“Aye, my lady,” Thomas said respectfully.
“What’s wrong with you?” Alyce asked Hugh.
“I have a headache and it makes me sick to my stomach,” Hugh said.
“He vomited in the courtyard,” Philip informed the lady of the castle.
“Oh dear.” Alyce’s motherly instincts awoke. “You had better come with me, Hugh. I’ll get a squire to disarm you.”
The last thing Hugh wanted was some strange boy hovering over him.
Thomas said, “I’ll take care of him, my lady. There’s no need to call one of your squires.”
Hugh felt a flash of gratitude.
“Very well,” the lady Alyce said. “Come with me.”
They crossed the floor to the stairs and followed her up to the next level. The door to the ladies’ solar was partially open and the sound of feminine voices drifted out into the passageway as they went by.
Hugh wondered if his mother was inside.
Then they were in front of the room Hugh had occupied on his earlier visits to Evesham. Alyce pushed the door open and went inside.
Hugh and Thomas followed.
Alyce went over to the bed to check that it had sheets on it.
Satisfied that it was properly made up, she turned around. “I’ll send a page with water.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Hugh said.
“I hope you feel well soon,” she said pleasantly, and left.
“This will just take a minute,” Thomas said, and quickly and efficiently, he got Hugh out of his wet cloak, his sword belt, his mail, his spurs, and his boots.
Another wave of nausea swept through Hugh.
“Is there a basin?” he asked Thomas desperately.
Thomas grabbed the empty washbowl and handed it to Hugh, who was sick once more.
Once it was over, he crawled into the bed and curled up on his side under the fur cover.
The pain stabbed on.
He shut his eyes. “I’ll be all right,” he said to Thomas. “You’re wet and hungry. Go downstairs and join the others.”
“There’s nothing else I can do for you?”
“No.”
“All right, then,” Thomas said hesitantly. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Aye,” Hugh said, although he knew that sleep would be impossible until the pain subsided.
Finally he was alone.
Lying in the big bed under the rich fur cover, Hugh settled in to endure.
It was late afternoon when the sharp stabbing agony finally muted to a dull ache. Gradually that too subsided, until only a faint tenderness remained in the muscle on the left side of his neck.
Slowly Hugh sat up in bed, linked his arms around his legs, and rested his pain-free forehead on his knees.
God, what an entrance, he thought bitterly.